<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>yearning by incineratethelimes</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29477583">yearning</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/incineratethelimes/pseuds/incineratethelimes'>incineratethelimes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Young Ones (TV 1982)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, WIP</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:21:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>627</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29477583</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/incineratethelimes/pseuds/incineratethelimes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>WIP pls ignore</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Vyvyan Basterd/Rick (Young Ones)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>yearning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s not really a word that Rick can use to explain his current feelings other than <i>yearning</i>. He doesn’t usually like to delve too deep into his dictionary (obviously being the intellectual genius that he is, he doesn’t tend to lead himself too far beyond his own sparkling vocabulary). However there’s been a certain feeling that’s been gnawing at him for days, especially when he’s centimetres away from a certain housemate of his.</p>
<p>There’s nothing that can really compare to the pure longing that overwhelms him when he’s sat a breath away from Vyvyan on the sofa, trying desperately not to sigh particularly too hard in case he’s not brushed his teeth thoroughly enough that day. There’s not really any other word that can encompass the almost biological drive he experiences sitting innocently next to Vyvyan, at least not something that explains the urge to nonchalantly place his elbow a little closer to his cuffed wrist as they sit and watch the mind-numbingly scheduled BBC programming for the evening.</p>
<p>He’s never really paid too much attention to his appearance (or scent for that matter) when around the other housemates. He thinks back to his time at the shared rooms while he was away at boarding school. Mummy had always sent him off with pristinely washed and pressed uniform and civvies for the weekend, and just lovingly rolled her eyes when he returned with devastatingly soiled garments.</p>
<p>“Boys will be boys,” she always sighed and rolled her eyes, not knowing that the mud and grass stains ingrained into his school trousers were not in fact the result of boyish mischief, but of countless hours of torment in the little thicket beyond the school grounds. She needn’t know the ins and outs of his bullying at the hands of Dick and Julian, nor the fact that while gazing desperately into Dick’s eyes he felt the stir of something terrifying in his gut… something that didn’t quite shift until he found himself with his hands down his pyjama trousers, gasping into the rock hard pillow of his dormitory bed. </p>
<p>———————————————</p>
<p>Vyvyan doesn’t know the meaning of many words, but one thing he does know the meaning of is to <i>want</i>. Every fibre of his being can be consumed with want, from the aching need to soothe his restless mind in the bottom of a pint - or eight - to the itching feeling in his fists for a little release of the violent urge that gnaws at the scarred skin wrapping his knuckles. </p>
<p>However there’s no want like the pull he feels towards something pretty when he’s swimming in the dregs of a warm pint of lager after a night at the Kebab and Calculator. Not that Vyvyan would ever admit that the world could present him with anything beautiful that wasn’t drawn from the eternal depths of hell. In his mind, pretty was just a disguise for complete trouble, which would normally make him feel excited at the prospect of causing pure chaos. However, in this instance, pretty presented itself in his insufferable poseur of a housemate, which meant someone, somewhere, was playing a cruel trick on him.</p>
<p>The best way to deal with his predicament, Vyvyan decided, was to completely obliterate any kind of positive interaction with his source of torment. This  of course meant that hitting Rick over the head with any solid object he happened to have to hand should surely take care of the problem. </p>
<p>There was just a slight problem in that the bastard seemed to just keep coming back for more, which meant that Vyvyan just had to keep rising to his quite stupid, suicidal need to be obliterated. All of which, of course, was in his best interest to avoid any lingering feelings of <i>want</i>.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>